Caroo
by Lorlie
Summary: Captain Kirk's son Joseph is kidnaped. Who will save him? Please R&R! Pretty please?


(Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to someone else. Only the original ideas in this story are mine. Alas!)  
  
  
  
. CAROO  
  
  
  
  
  
"You're sure you don't mind?"  
  
Jim Kirk stopped on the wide, white verandah to ask again. Early summer moonlight shone through the ancient pine trees. A porch swing creaked faintly as it swayed in the breeze.  
  
"I'm sure." McCoy's voice was beginning to sound cranky. At nearly 150 years the doctor was the oldest-living human and the longest-lived human in history. His hair was white, his face seamed with wrinkles, and his bright blue eyes had begun to fade. For all that, as he was fond of saying, he looked a lot better than most men his age.  
  
"Look," McCoy said, "everything'll be fine. I'll look after Joseph and Gabby'll look after both of us." He must have caught Kirk's puzzled frown in the darkness. "You haven't met Gabby, have you?" He turned and called back into the house and in a moment a slender, willowy figure emerged to join them on the porch.  
  
"Jim, this is Gabby – Gabrielle – my great-granddaughter."  
  
"Great-great," she corrected with a smile. No more than thirteen, she was a charming redhead with a freckled pixie face and a soft southern drawl.  
  
"Think a lot of yourself, don't you?" her grandfather teased.  
  
She lifted her chin impishly. "Reckon I do."  
  
"Impudent child! Say hello to Captain James T. Kirk. The T's for Tiberius."  
  
"I know." She leaned forward to shake his hand. "Granddad's been tellin' me stories 'bout you, but I on'y b'lieve 'bout half of 'em."  
  
"Then you believe twice as many as you should," Kirk told her. "I appreciate you and your grandfather watching my son this evening."  
  
"Oh, that's all right," she answered easily, "he's a li'l cutie."  
  
Kirk was charmed. His late wife had been half-Klingon and half- Romulan. Joseph, his eighteen-month-old son was a quarter each of those and half human. His appearance was, to say the least, unique. Kirk had heard his offspring described as everything from 'a fascinating example of genetics' to 'a freak of nature', but never as 'a li'l cutie' before.  
  
"If you're sure it's no trouble," Kirk said again. He had been asked to help 'welcome' – in other words haze – a new commandant at Starfleet Academy, but he was reluctant to leave his son. He was determined to be the father to Joseph that he had never been to David Marcus, his first son, murdered by a Klingon these many decades ago. "We should be done by midnight, I think."  
  
"If you are," McCoy said, "you didn't do it right. Go on -- get! Have fun! Come back whenever."  
  
McCoy and Gabby stood on the porch and watched as Kirk climbed into a hover-car and flew away. Silence settled over the old house and in a moment the crickets, startled into silence by the hover-car's passage, resumed their song. A whippoorwill was calling in the hollow.  
  
The elderly doctor and his great-great-granddaughter went back in the house. McCoy settled down in the living room with a book and Gabby tiptoed towards the back of the house.  
  
"I'm just a'goin' to check on the li'l guy," she said.  
  
"All right, dear," McCoy told her, "just be careful and don't wake him up."  
  
She disappeared down the hall and McCoy began leafing pages, looking for his place.  
  
A terrified scream rent the air.  
  
"Gabby?" McCoy shouted, struggling to his feet. "Gabby, what's wrong, child?"  
  
Heavy booted feet sounded in the passage. The door burst open and a Klingon warrior shouldered through. One beefy arm was around Gabby's neck. In his other hand he held a disrupter and he had it pointed at the girl's head. The second Klingon, following after, was carrying Joseph.  
  
"Oh, God," McCoy murmured. It was nothing less than an invocation. He could feel the blood drain from his face. "Don't hurt them. Do what you want with me, but don't hurt them."  
  
"Shut up, old man!" the first Klingon snarled. He gestured towards Gabby with his weapon. "Shut up and listen or she dies."  
  
"I'm listening," McCoy told him.  
  
"I am Aktar, third generation descendant of Boktan, who died aboard the first Enterprise when James T. Kirk ordered it to self-destruct. At that time my family declared a blood feud against Kirk. I have come to settle that debt. A life for a life."  
  
"Not Joseph," McCoy whispered in horror.  
  
"It's Kirk we want. He has thirty-six hours to deliver himself into our hands or his son will pay the price in his stead."  
  
"Wait! How will he find you?"  
  
"He has ways. He's Kirk. Thirty-six hours."  
  
With a sudden movement the Klingon hurled Gabby at her grandfather. They tangled together and hit the floor as Aktar touched a com button on his chest. There was the hum of a transporter and the two Klingons and Joseph shimmered out of existence.  
  
  
  
"Where in the hell was security?" Kirk raged.  
  
They were here now, taking statements, scanning the house and grounds with tri-corders, generally getting in everyone's way/  
  
McCoy was sitting in a straight chair off to one side. His face was an unhealthy grayish color and he was staring straight ahead with an unfocused gaze, mumbling over and over, "Jim, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry . . ."  
  
Kirk caught sight of his face and his blood ran cold. He was still used to thinking of McCoy as one of his contemporaries and as one of the strongest men he had ever known. But time had stood still for James T. Kirk and McCoy had grown so very old. One-hundred-and-fifty. A shock like this could kill him.  
  
Kirk went over and stood in front of his chair. "It wasn't you fault, Bones," he said very gently.  
  
McCoy didn't look at him but kept on muttering.  
  
"Dr. McCoy!" Kirk barked. Fear sharpened his voice and everyone in the room jumped at the commanding tone. McCoy met his gaze at last.  
  
"It wasn't your fault," Kirk said gravely.  
  
"I said I'd look after him. Jim, I'm so sorry."  
  
"You couldn't have known this would happen, Bones. This is Earth, not the neutral zone. Children are supposed to be safe in their beds." 'And old men,' he thought silently, 'and little girls.'  
  
Gabby was kneeling on the floor by her grandfather's chair, resting her head on his arm and clasping his hand. She looked up now. She'd been crying and her eyes were red but her face was very pale under her freckles.  
  
"Are they tryin' to start a war?" she asked. The she said it "war" had two syllables.  
  
"No," Kirk told her, "this is a private vendetta. The Klingon government doesn't condone Aktar's actions."  
  
"They don't condemn them, either," McCoy said indignantly.  
  
"I'm sure there will be diplomatic repercussions. In the meantime I've got thirty-three hours to find my son."  
  
"We've got thirty-three hours to find your son."  
  
"That's right," Gabby chimed in, "we're a'comin' too!"  
  
McCoy smiled down at her affectionately. "Sorry, darlin'. This particular 'we' doesn't include you."  
  
"But, Grandpa," on her tongue it was a three-syllable word.  
  
"But me no buts," he said firmly. "When we get back, we'll tell you all about it first."  
  
He snagged a passing security guard. "Ensign . . . ?"  
  
"Randolph, Sir." Randolph glanced at Gabby and smiled warmly. Gabby dimpled prettily and McCoy scowled.  
  
"Never mind," he said.  
  
He found a female guard and sent Gabby home with her, unhappy but resigned. When they were gone he turned to Kirk. "Well?"  
  
"Are you sure you're up to this?"  
  
"Don't ask stupid questions. Where do we start?"  
  
"Where I always start," Kirk said dryly.  
  
"With Spock."  
  
"With Spock. He and Scotty are meeting us in San Francisco. Starfleet's promised me a small, fast ship."  
  
  
  
The abandoned mining colony clung to the surface of a worked-out asteroid in the midst of a vast section of uninhabited space. Aktar's group did not need the whole station. There were only twenty Klingons in all. But the mechanism controlling the blast doors was inoperative and, after some consideration, they had decided it was simpler to power up the entire installation. So it was that they paced through long, empty corridors, their footsteps echoing hollowly back at them and occasionally dying eerily into the distance where the metal of the station opened into the stone caverns of the old mine.  
  
Aktar himself was carrying his small prisoner. He took him through a sliding door into a dim room with a made-up cot. Another, much smaller room opened off this one.  
  
"The toilet's in there," Aktar told Joseph. "There's a food synthesizer here, on the wall." He had discovered on the ship, coming here, that Joseph could take care of himself in these simple ways. He dropped him on the cot. "You will stay here until someone comes for you."  
  
Joseph was curled up on his side. After a moment he sat up and looked at the Klingon. There were tears in his eyes and he sniffled and dragged the back of his hand across his nose.  
  
"My daddy?" he asked plaintively. He was just beginning to talk.  
  
Aktar bared his pointed teeth in a wicked grin. "I want your daddy too," he said. Signaling the light off he left the room and locked the door.  
  
Left alone in the dark, Joseph began to cry. He was, normally, a very brave little boy and a very bright little boy, but blood feuds and kidnapping were entirely out of his ken. He didn't understand about revenge and vendettas.  
  
He also didn't understand about security forcefields, so he wasn't surprised when a very young woman and an even younger man shimmered silently into existence beside his bed and signaled the light on.  
  
They turned to him immediately in concern. The woman sat on the bed beside him, gathered him into her lap and cuddled him reassuringly. She was a tiny black woman with dark skin and hair and dark brown eyes and long golden earrings that jingled when she moved her head.  
  
The man's skin was very fair, but his hair and eyes were brown. He had an open, friendly face and an engaging smile. He watched them for a moment, then crossed to the restroom and came back with a warm, wet cloth. Joseph suffered his face to be washed, then took the wash cloth, blew his nose on it, and handed it back. The young man took it gingerly, with a wry grin, and dropped it down a disposal chute.  
  
"Better now?"  
  
Joseph nodded and looked from one to the other. "My daddy?" he asked again hopefully.  
  
"Of course we'll take you to your daddy," the woman said.  
  
The man crossed to the door. He took a handful of tools from a pouch at his belt and pried loose a cover by the doorframe. He was muttering to himself as he worked. His voice had an odd, musical quality. He spoke with an unfamiliar cadence and he was using words that were strange to Joseph.  
  
Joseph listened, entranced. The woman, after a moment, listened too, and then she said the man's name sharply. He looked up, startled.  
  
"Little pitchers," she said significantly, indicating Joseph with her eyes.  
  
The man looked down at Joseph and then looked back at her, completely unenlightened.  
  
"Little pitchers," she elucidated, "have big ears."  
  
The man looked at Joseph, whose ears were very large indeed, and grinned. "Some more than others, eh?"  
  
The woman sighed impatiently. "I don't think the captain will be very happy if you teach his son to swear."  
  
"I wasn't swearing!" the young man said, startled. The woman raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "I was just," he wilted a little under her scrutiny, "commenting forcefully."  
  
She shook her head in exasperation. "Is it going to be very hard to get the door open?"  
  
He made a rude noise. "No. It's going to be very easy. I can't believe they call this security. It's insulting."  
  
The woman glanced down at Joseph, her eyes dancing. When she spoke her rich voice was warm with amusement. "I'm sure if Aktar knew he had you to deal with he'd have made a better effort. This was only meant to hold a two-year-old, after all."  
  
"A two-year-old could open this if he knew how. Joseph, would you like to learn how to bypass a door lock?"  
  
Joseph hopped down and toddled over agreeably. The woman followed with a worried frown. "I really don't think we should be teaching him this."  
  
Her companion waved aside her protests and lifted Joseph easily with one arm. He put a screwdriver into Joseph's chubby fist and closed his own hand over it. "It's a very useful skill," he argued.  
  
"Now," he said, "we touch the point here and the shaft here and – presto!" there was a small blue flash. The door slid open and Joseph giggled wildly.  
  
"Wonderful," the woman said dryly. "A felon in the making."  
  
The man turned and thrust Joseph into her arms. His face was all serious now. "You carry him," he said. "I'll go first." He dropped his tools back into their pouch and unclipped a phaser from his belt.  
  
Swiftly and silently they slipped into the hall.  
  
  
  
The Pegasus was everything Starfleet had promised. As fast as a starship, she boasted impressive firepower and was small enough that Kirk, Spock, and Scotty could probably have run her alone. She came, however, with a complement of crewmembers and a well-armed security force. There was also a liaison officer, an annoying, condescending man that Kirk was beginning to believe had been sent in the hope that he wouldn't return. His name was Parker.  
  
"Now, Captain, I know this must be very distressing for you, but I'm sure there's no real need to worry. You're a very important man, after all. The Klingons know that. I'm sure they'd never be bold enough to harm your son."  
  
Kirk stopped in mid stride and faced him. "Do you know what happened to my older son?"  
  
Parker blinked in confusion. "You have an older son?"  
  
"I did. He was murdered by a Klingon."  
  
Dismissing the man from his thoughts he strode ahead to the Space Dock transporter platform. Parker and Dr. McCoy joined him and they beamed aboard.  
  
Montgomery Scott met them in the transporter room, a portly, barrel- chested man with gray hair and a gray walrus moustache. Like Kirk, Scotty had bypassed some seventy-five years to find himself adrift in the future. He came forward now to clasp Kirk's hand.  
  
"Jim," he said, "a terrible thing it is! Don't worry, Captain, we'll get the little laddie back."  
  
"I know we will, Scotty," Kirk said, "I know."  
  
They followed the Scotsman down the short corridor to the Pegasus' small bridge. Spock was already there, bent over a computer console.  
  
Parker bounced in, having recovered his aplomb. "Well, Captain, I see your whole crew is here!"  
  
Kirk glanced around, grateful for the familiar faces even as he noticed, with a separate pain for each, the gaps.  
  
McCoy read his mind and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "They're here in spirit, Jim."  
  
"I know, Bones." He came up behind Spock. "Anything?"  
  
"Indeed." The Vulcan touched a control and the image appeared of a chunk of rock with a collection of dome-shaped structures stuck to one side.  
  
"You found him already?"  
  
"It was not difficult. He wished to be found. This was an axite mining installation. It was abandoned seven Earth years ago when the deposit was worked out. Three weeks ago Aktar hired mechanics to repair the station and return it to power."  
  
"There are now a large number of Federation vessels around the station, just out of sensor range. They include the Enterprise, the Excelsior, and the Potemkin."  
  
"I have to go in alone," Kirk said.  
  
Spock looked up, his dark eyes troubled. He had changed so little and he had changed more than any of them. "Jim, that would not be advisable. If you go in alone, Aktar will certainly kill you."  
  
"If I don't he'll kill Joseph." Kirk sighed. "Don't worry, old friend, we'll think of something. We always do."  
  
  
  
  
  
Joseph and his companions had traversed three corridors. They paused at a juncture and the man leaned forward cautiously to peer around the corner. He seemed uncertain.  
  
"Lost?" the woman asked dryly.  
  
"Of course not," he blustered, "I don't get lost!"  
  
"Oh," she considered. "Misplaced?"  
  
With a snort of annoyance he started forward, but this time he didn't stop to look first and he was met with a blast of disrupter fire that tore the phaser out of his grasp and ripped open the palm of his hand.  
  
With a gasp of dismay, the woman set Joseph down and pushed her companion against the wall. Drawing her own phaser she fired several times around the corner. Then she herded Joseph and the young man through the nearest door and melted the lock behind them. They were in a long, echoing room that had once been part of the ore processing plant. Banks of machinery rusted around them.  
  
"Let me see," she demanded. She touched her companion's wounded arm and he barked a short, interesting word that Joseph had never heard before. Joseph duly repeated it and the young man managed a wry grin and offered an odd, two-word phrase as an alternative. His face was white but there was a sparkle of humor in his eyes.  
  
Joseph repeated the two-word phrase and the woman waved her hand in the air as though to brush aside their nonsense.  
  
"Never mind that! Are you all right?"  
  
"I'll live," he said, "in a manner of speaking."  
  
With his good hand he ripped a piece out of his sleeve and she used it to bind his injury. "It's not a very good bandage," she fretted.  
  
"Never mind. We have to move."  
  
He took Joseph this time and she led the way with drawn phaser. They left the room by another door and made a series of quick turns to evade any pursuers. Their flight had been discovered; shouts and pounding footsteps sounded in the distance, the echoes resounding weirdly around them. Now it was the woman's turn to pause uncertainly.  
  
"Lost?" the man asked her.  
  
"Yes," she said flatly.  
  
"Hey, guys!" a new voice called nearby.  
  
They spun and found a second young man braced in a doorway thirty feet away. He was tanned and slender, with black hair and eyes, and his voice was very deep.  
  
Joseph's friends ran towards him and he stepped back to let them pass into a cavernous docking bay where a small, sleek craft stood ready for take-off.  
  
The new man sealed the bay behind them, then turned to usher them aboard the gleaming ship. His eyes were on the first man's injured hand.  
  
"You know, I didn't steal this shuttle so you could bleed all over the carpet." In spite of his words there was concern in his voice. "You okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," the first man said impatiently. He set Joseph in a too- big chair and buckled him in one-handed. "You sit tight and be good, okay?"  
  
The second man took the helm while the woman went to a back up station. When Joseph was strapped in the first man took the co-pilot's seat. The pilot looked back at his small passenger, then grinned at the woman. "Joseph's just about the same age Junior here was when he first came aboard."  
  
The first man growled at him and the woman shook her head and smiled. "Don't pay any attention to them. They're always like this."  
  
Even as they traded wisecracks they were busy powering up the little craft. Now the woman's hands danced across her console and the big bay doors yawned open, releasing them into space.  
  
Small, deadly pursuit craft shot into space from apertures on either side of them. The co-pilot examined his controls in dismay. "Where are the weapons?"  
  
"Look," the pilot said sternly, "this is a good ship. This is a beautiful ship. You are lucky to have this ship."  
  
"There are no weapons?"  
  
"It was this or a thirty-year-old tugboat. And the tugboat was still moored to a freighter full of canned peaches."  
  
"At least if we had that, we could throw the peaches."  
  
The leading pursuit craft fired and the man piloting the little shuttle whipped it around in an impossibly tight turn. Space around them was littered with smaller asteroids and he drove his craft among them, piloting with unbelievable skill as he kept one jump ahead of the Klingons.  
  
All three of Joseph's rescuers had settled down to business now, playing their consoles with skill, exchanging terse comments and information, coordinating their actions with the easy grace of long practice.  
  
Suddenly the woman looked up from her board. "Starfleet," she said simply.  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Everywhere. There are fleet vessels closing in from all sides."  
  
  
  
  
  
On board the Pegasus, Kirk watched the ongoing battle in dismay.  
  
"Dammit, where's Joseph?"  
  
"Jim," Spock said, "we're being hailed by one of the Klingon vessels."  
  
"Onscreen!"  
  
The main screen lit up and Aktar's furious face glared out at them. "Kirk!" he bellowed, "I don't know how you arranged this, but our business is not settled. I will not be taken alive and my kinsmen will add my life to the price on your miserable head!"  
  
Aktar abruptly broke off the transmission and the Klingon vessels streaked for open space. In a matter of seconds they were surrounded by starships. A pair of precision bursts from the Enterprise disabled Aktar's weapons and shields. Almost simultaneously the Excelsior and the Potemkin fired on the other vessel. The battle was ended before it began.  
  
On the Pegasus all eyes were on the shuttlecraft, which was behaving very strangely. It had swooped around behind them. Now it came at them from their stern, spinning swiftly on its long axis.  
  
"A victory barrel roll," Kirk observed. "I'm looking forward to meeting the pilot of that ship."  
  
The shuttle nestled in among the larger vessels and came to a precise halt.  
  
"Hail them," Kirk said.  
  
"I have been," Spock replied. "They do not respond. They are powering down now. Shields down."  
  
Spock raised his head slowly. He wore the most perplexed look Kirk had ever seen on that lean, impassive face. "Jim, I am only reading one life-form. It's Joseph."  
  
"What? Are you sure?"  
  
"His readings are distinctive."  
  
"But what about the pilot? Joseph wasn't flying that ship. Did he transport off?"  
  
"Negative."  
  
"Well, what are we standind' here jawin' about it for?" McCoy demanded. "Let's go see!"  
  
The transporter beam released them in the center of the shuttle's main aisle. Joseph was sitting strapped into one of the forward seats, just behind the cockpit. When he saw Kirk he strained against his restraints and stretched out his small arms.  
  
"Daddy! Daddy!"  
  
Thankfully the captain went to reclaim his son. McCoy hobbled anxiously behind him, medical tricorder at the ready.  
  
Spock, Scotty and a security contingent were examining the empty shuttle. A thorough search confirmed Spock's earlier readings. There was no one aboard but the toddler. Furthermore, the sensor records of several Federation vessels had been trained on the craft when she dropped her shields and all agreed that no one had transported from it. The vessel proved to be a private craft that had disappeared from the nearest inhabited planet some fourteen hours earlier.  
  
The ship's logs were now working perfectly, but there was no record at all of the time between the shuttle's disappearance and the time Kirk's party beamed aboard. There was nothing in the computer to indicate that the ship's flight had been either pre-programmed or remote-controlled. In any case, either of those possibilities seemed unlikely considering the precision flying they had all seen.  
  
Scotty turned in a slow circle, scratching his head. "If that don't just beat the devil!" he exclaimed.  
  
"There were at least two people besides Joseph aboard," Spock said, "because the co-pilot was bleeding."  
  
McCoy, having reassured himself that Joseph was still Joseph and that Joseph was fine, came over with his tricorder.  
  
"Human," he said.  
  
Spock nodded. "It is inconceivable that a human could come this far into space without, at some point, passing through a medical or customs facility that would record their DNA. We can compare this blood sample to the records and identify at least one of Joseph's rescuers thus."  
  
"Or we could just ask Joseph," McCoy suggested.  
  
Kirk looked to his son. "Joseph, do you know who was flying the shuttle?"  
  
Joseph nodded agreeable.  
  
"Well, who was it?"  
  
"Caroo," Joseph said.  
  
"Caroo?" Kirk asked. "Were the crew flying the shuttle?"  
  
The toddler considered this for a moment and then nodded happily.  
  
Kirk grinned. "Bones, my son is contracting your granddaughter's southern drawl."  
  
"In any case," Spock said, "we shall soon learn the identity of at least one of the crew."  
  
  
  
But, for once, Spock was wrong.  
  
A week later they sat around McCoy's spacious living room discussing the mystery. Spock and Scotty were sitting across from one another at a small table, attempting to write a computer program that could pilot a precise course through a battle and leave no trace of its existence in the computer. McCoy was ensconced in a well-padded rocker with a tall mint julep and Kirk sat on the hearth, leaning against the cold stone fireplace with one knee drawn up. Trying to be a good example, he was drinking only coffee, the cup sitting on a low table at his elbow.  
  
McCoy was needling Spock, just for old time's sake. "How's that program comin', Spock, old boy? Did you get it to bleed yet?"  
  
Spock ignored him. Scotty looked up.  
  
"How is the little laddie, Captain? Showing any after effects?"  
  
"He doesn't seem to be," Kirk said hopefully, watching his son with affection. The object of their discussion was busy studying the hundreds of photos and holographs that took up every available surface. After some deliberation he pulled down a picture, clasped it in his chubby arms, and trotted over to present it to his father.  
  
Kirk took it and laid it down without looking at it. "Thank you, Joseph. Dr. McCoy wants his pictures where he has them."  
  
Joseph giggled and toddled off.  
  
"I'm just happy I got him back safe. Only," he added dryly, "I wonder, did I get back a little boy or a puppy?" Joseph had fetched another framed photograph. "Thank you, Joseph, leave the pictures alone, please."  
  
"And he hasn't said anything at all?"  
  
"Nothing very helpful. The pretty lady sang to him and the 'caroo' flew the shuttle. Oh, and yesterday I caught him trying to bypass the lock on the back door."  
  
Joseph was toddling across the room with another photo in his arms. Halfway to his father he lost his balance and sat down abruptly.  
  
"Govno!" he said distinctly.  
  
"What did you say?" Kirk demanded in astonishment.  
  
The adults were all staring at him and the little boy with the gargoyle's features beamed at them angelically.  
  
"Bozhe moi?" he offered innocently.  
  
Kirk set his coffee down very carefully. Scotty, drinking something a good deal stronger, choked on it.  
  
"Fascinating," Spock murmured, almost to himself.  
  
"Now just a goddamn minute here!" McCoy raged. "I know what you're thinking. I know what you're thinking and you can just stop thinking it right now because it isn't possible. I know it might seem to the two of you," his wavering finger poked at Kirk and Scotty, "that it might be possible because you weren't there. But I was there and I know it's impossible. Spock, you were there. Tell them it's impossible. Make them stop thinking what they're thinking. And do it now!"  
  
But Spock was off on a tangent of his own, conversing quietly with the computer in one corner.  
  
" . . . 'Karu flew the shuttle," Kirk said in an enlightened tone.  
  
"Jim, the pictures," Scotty breathed, "look at the pictures."  
  
Kirk took up the stack of photos and laid them out in front of him, one by one. They were all taken of the same three people. Taken while they were young and at times when they were happy.  
  
Jim Kirk found a lump rising in his throat and swallowed hard, his vision blurring as he looked down. Three faces smiled up at him from a bygone century. Three young officers that he had known, oh so very well indeed.  
  
As if from a fog he heard the computer responding to Spock's queries, its synthesized voice as calm and reasonable as if what it were saying were sane.  
  
"Blood sample 453-07291," it said, "match positive. Identification: Chekov, Pavel A.; Admiral; Commander of Starfleet; Retired; Deceased."  
  
  
  
. THE END  
  
  
  
Author's note: Hi. If you've read my story Avalon, you may notice that this is almost a sequel. The only thing is, I don't have any explanation for how Sulu, Uhura and Chekov were able to breach Aktar's force field or how they got off the shuttle undetected. The reason for this is that Caroo was written about a year and a half before Avalon and was intended as a simple ghost story. Sorry if this is discombobulating! Oh, and thanks for reading this! Loretta : ) 


End file.
